Holding Time Together
by aphelion-orion
Summary: A cold evening, a bunch of soldiers, and their unexpected company. Or, in other words, "And then the Commander showed up, and we all stopped breathing for a little while." --Christmas ficlet, war era, gen, Sol and Ky--


**Title:** Holding Time Together  
**Fandom:** Guilty Gear  
**Rating:** G  
**Characters:** Sol, Ky  
**Warnings:** May rot your teeth. XD  
**Notes: **War era, Christmas ficlet.

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**Holding Time Together**

It hadn't stopped snowing.

Somewhere around the end of November, the temperatures had dropped below zero, transforming the sheets of rain into their frozen counterparts. Not in a gradual manner, either, with a few hesitant flakes testing the waters, but the kind of snowfall that, when you crawled into your tent at three in the morning, stiff and sore, and crawled back out an hour later, just as stiff and sore, looked like someone had flown in a few cannons in an effort to get the scenery ready for the shooting of the annual Santa Claus movie.

For someone who had been alive to enjoy the idiosyncrasies of the globally warmed East Coast, the spectacle had something mildly ironic about it—back then, they'd have offered the Nobel prize to anyone who figured out how to turn back the clock, and all it had taken to fix the weather patterns was the end of the world as they'd known it.

It brought to mind an old song, sitting in the middle of that ongoing history play, watching people rub down horses and shake out tents, replacing wheels with runners and joking about frostbite.

The light-hearted tone did little to mask the truth. As much as the soldiers liked to complain about the snow, they wouldn't really have wished it away, and Sol had been there when the supply lines had broken down due to weather or incompetence or Gear attacks, whatever it had been at the time, leaving the front lines stranded in the middle of a subarctic desert. The official toll said over nine hundred, but it didn't really tell of the way they tended to go, just fell over when given a shake, just didn't roll out of their bundle come morning.

Whatever people might have had to say about Kiske's anal-retentive fastidiousness three months ago had evaporated, his relentless pursuit of forms and requests, his insistence on personal correspondence mobilizing resources nobody had thought existed—budgeteers caving and putting their signature on a demand for reasonable fuel supply, towns unaffiliated with Order business setting up trails and couriers, moved by—or so the story went—nothing more than the Commander's smile.

The idol meter was swinging to the other side in an almost comical manner, starting to hover somewhere between worship and insanity, but right now, Sol couldn't honestly say he minded too much, not when it put the entire camp in a better mood and a bottle of booze in his hand. Made being stuck on a freezing peak that much more tolerable.

"You know, compared to last year, this almost feels like a camping trip," one of the soldiers murmured into his mug of tea, in an echo of Sol's own thoughts.

"Last year?" another asked, stretching socked feet towards the fire to melt off the fine sheen of ice crystals.

"You went this long without hearing about it? Christ, man, where have you been?"

"Spain," the young man muttered defensively, curling his toes.

"…lucky bastard."

"So?"

"So…" The sigh came from a girl who had been drawing swirls in the snow with the tip of her spear. "Since Ursy dearest had to bring up this cheery topic, let's just say that last year, a freezer would have seemed like a warm place."

The first soldier ducked his head, a flush spreading across his cheeks. "I just meant… this is sort of nice. All that's missing is a few decorations."

"Mistletoe over the mess tent entrance? You horrible opportunist."

"Hey, that's not really—oi, stop laughing!"

"Oh come on, like you didn't try it already."

"Day-glo star on Kiske's tent," Sol suggested, which earned him another round of chuckles. "Marshmallows."

"Marsh…mallows?"

At the circle of nonplussed stares, he simply shrugged and took another swig of whiskey. Sometimes, it was a tad hard to remember just which things were still around, which had been razed by the blacktech ban and which had simply poofed out of existence because people had started focusing on the bare essentials.

"Aren't those…" Another girl kindled a cigarette on the flames and took a drag, staring into the darkened sky. "Aren't those… about that size, kinda squishy, look like cotton wads?"

"Huh?"

"Yeah, I think I remember… my grandma back home used to make them for the shop. Insanely pricey, but the big shots loved them. Used to order them by the dozen for parties."

Sol couldn't quite help the snort at the idea of marshmallows migrating from 7-Eleven shelves to silver platters, the rich priding themselves on their exquisite taste when he could still remember school kids stuffing their faces with them. There was something especially amusing in artificial values when you'd been alive to see both before and after, or a measure of alive.

"Ooh, fancy. You sure get to try some nice things hanging out with the Commander, huh?"

Sol lifted his shoulders again, not really inclined to reply. He'd only accompanied the kid once, but for some reason, that occurrence had made the rounds as if it were the singular most remarkable thing in the world.

"Hey, it's not like he's there for the party," Urs muttered, frowning. "Was stationed at one of 'em once, don't think he ever got to touch a bite the entire time. You know, having to make nice and things."

"You're awfully defensive about this," the first girl remarked with a glint in her eye. "Finally joined the club, huh."

"Th-that's not it. Just… we've been there, with the stupid rumors. Didn't think he needed a repeat, if you catch my drift."

"My, my, someone's carrying a mighty torch. Wonder what the Commander'd say if—"

"Erm, guys? Shut up?"

There would have been some merit in a comparative study between the Order and bees, as they certainly seemed to have a similar radar for their leader bee at all possible times, a hush falling over the group as they hastily kicked bottles of alcohol under their seats just when the kid ducked out of the radio tent. The posing, as usual, turned out to be completely unnecessary. The kid barely even seemed to notice the group, nose buried in a stack of transcripts so deeply that it was a wonder he wasn't tripping over his own feet while walking. He would have vanished out of sight again, the way he tended to do, if Urs hadn't raised his arm.

"Sir? Uh, sir?"

"Idiot, what are you doing?" one of the soldiers hissed, nervous glances trying to figure out a way to discreetly kick their squad mate in the shin.

Obliviously, the man continued waving his arm. "Sir?"

There was a five-second response delay that suggested the kid wasn't just absorbed in his paperwork but also short on sleep, because when he finally turned around, he seemed stupidly surprised to find the first watch congregating around a bonfire, and even more surprised that someone was calling to him.

"Yes, Sergeant? …Is there a problem?"

"Uh, no, sir. Um." A cough. "Just wondering what you were up to, sir."

Somewhere to the left, there was the muffled noise of a gloved palm meeting a forehead. The kid stood rooted to the spot, and if Sol looked hard enough, he could see the switches flipping behind his eyes, searching for the appropriate response to the situation in his perfect little robot brain. Social butterfly, Kiske wasn't.

"Um. I mean, it's, uh, obvious that you're busy, sir. Just… seems like such a sad way to spend the evening, and—" This time, the kick in the shin hit home, and none too inconspicuously. "Not that it's _sad_ what you're doing, we were just—I mean, wouldn't you like to sit down?"

"…I." There was an embarrassingly long pause, and Sol wondered whether the guy was even aware of what he'd just accomplished, something Sol hadn't managed in three months of needling and prodding—rendering Kiske speechless. "…I wouldn't want to intrude. But thank you."

"You sure, sir?" Urs was testing a grin. "We have a spare seat here and all."

Spare seat being a crate of empty beer bottles, but what the kid didn't know wouldn't hurt anyone.

"…Well." He hesitated another moment. "Thank you kindly, then."

If there was a ramrod shoved up Kiske's ass, there were two ramrods shoved up everyone else's ass the moment he decided to step closer, awkwardly seating himself on the proffered crate. It almost made Sol debate giving into the holiday cheer and sparing some sympathy as the silence continued to stretch, Kiske glancing around like he couldn't quite figure out what to do next and was wondering if he'd maybe made a mistake, and the rest of the soldiers trying not to make any sudden moves.

The kid clearing his throat sounded like a gunshot, making everyone jerk that much more upright. "Um, please. As you were."

"Heh. Sure thing," Sol said, and lifted his bottle in a mock toast under the incredulous stares of the group. The very least he'd counted on was an offended glare or a lecture on the regulations for alcoholic beverages, if not threats of disciplinary action, but the look of sheer relief on the kid's face almost made him choke on his mouthful.

The soldiers glanced at each other, then at them, and figured if the Commander was willing to ignore such a transgression, they might be able to chance moving again.

One of the girls held out her thermos. "Sir?"

The kid blinked again, before quickly tucking the papers into the lapels of his coat, reaching out to accept the bottle. Someone else fished out a cup, and got a surprised smile in return. "Thank you."

Sol shook his head, concluded that Kliff had forgotten to install the interactive module, and took another drink.

"Um. So. Yeah." The girl was twisting a braid around her fingers. "Speaking of grandmas, I really miss my mom's stollen. That'd be good about now."

"…Panettone," one of the men ventured.

"Kūčiukai."

"Guys, could we stop talking about food that's not here? It's giving me cravings."

"You always have cravings, Mel."

"Ouch. You wound me, madam."

"Carols."

"What?"

"I miss Christmas carols. Used to teach them to my little girl. She was always off key, too." The soldier laughed. "It was terrible."

"What about you, sir?" The braided girl had turned back to Kiske, who had drawn the cup close to his face in an attempt to make himself invisible, and not without reason, as the attention immediately stifled the grins on the others' faces.

"Pardon?"

"Well, we were just talking about things we'd like. What would you wish for, sir?"

"Um."

"Peace on Earth and puppies for everyone doesn't count, Kiske," Sol smirked. "Try to come up with something original."

The kid was biting his lip, too absorbed in rifling through his options to even send him a dirty look. In a way, it really was kind of pitiable—he'd seen the kid make perfectly bland small talk with brass and politicians, but pose a personal question and he had no clue how to answer.

"…I wish…" He paused, fingers curling around the cup. "…I wish it weren't so damn cold, actually."

Stunned silence.

One of the guys started snickering, and promptly bit his tongue when Kiske joined in with an involuntary titter, snapping up straight with something like terror in his eyes.

"No," the kid said hastily, lunging forward so suddenly he ended up spilling his tea. "No, it's fine, please. It was funny. You can laugh. …Or at least breathe?"

The soldier didn't start up again, but someone else did, a giggle that developed into hyena laughter until the entire circle broke out in almost hysterical hilarity. Even the kid was chuckling along with a hand held in front of his mouth, and Sol thought the absurdity of that certainly merited a snerk of his own.

"Yeah, I suppose that wasn't very… I should come up with something better," the kid said eventually, and Sol was pretty sure if his cheeks hadn't been red already, he would've been blushing. "Um…"

"Here, sir."

The giggles abated when one of soldiers reached out, draping a scarf around his neck. It was very obviously non-regulation, a broad, fuzzy thing with its ends dyed in the colors of a festive hearth fire, and when he tugged it into a knot, it looked entirely too much like he was dressing up a small child.

Bewildered, Ky ran a hand down the fluffy front, before turning to look directly at the soldier. "This… was a gift, wasn't it. From someone close to you?"

"Eh." The man was scratching the back of his head in embarrassment. "I'm sure she wouldn't mind if… if it's for your sake, sir."

"Oh, geez."

"What a sap."

"Someone's laying it on thi—ow."

"As if that's gonna help." The braided girl rolled her eyes. "Someone fork over the rum, pronto."

"That's all right," Ky said, setting down his empty cup. "I'd rather not…"

"Well, then, someone fork over a fire user. This is an emergency. I'd do it myself but that'd turn illegal real quick."

"…what?"

"No."

If there was one thing Sol had always hated, it was how all eyes would swivel to him whenever someone said 'emergency.' In this case, he hated it twice over, because the only other person present who remained unaffected by the temperatures was an ice mage, who shrugged at him, and encouragingly vacated his seat next to the kid.

"_No._"

"That's… fine, really."

In the end, he wasn't sure what got him to move. It certainly wasn't compliance, as he couldn't have cared less whom he offended or disappointed, and he also didn't care if this was Kiske's first friendly outing in the history of ever.

He'd have liked to blame it on the alcohol, if that sort of thing still had any effect whatsoever, but he had the sneaking suspicion that it had to do with the way the kid looked in that oversized scarf, trying to retreat into the folds of his coat. It shouldn't have done anything, how Ky was slowly relaxing under the spreading warmth, how he practically leaned into the touch on his back, but when the damn kid said, "Thanks," and smiled as if it didn't cost him anything, Sol had the distinct feeling that wherever this was headed, it was spelling deep, deep trouble.

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**A/N:** Merry Christmas. XD I thought it'd be interesting to toy with Ky's first few months as leader, since that must've been quite difficult. Poor guy probably wasn't expecting to be liked at all, so he's pretty much out of his depth there. C&C is appreciated.

Notes for the bored:  
- Title is adapted from a sappy quote by Alexander Smith, "Christmas is the day that holds all time together."  
- The song is, of course, REM's End of the World as We Know It.  
- Actually, marshmallows used to be total food haute couture.  
- Foodthings mentioned are, of course, various European seasonal foodthings. And they're all delicious.


End file.
